Submitted by Chris Black
We watched as he plodded home keeping between the drills.
Reins slung over his right shoulder
The grey mare sauntering behind
Chewing from a well-earned nose bag.
Hat in hand, head bowed in prayer
The chimes of the Angelus bell ringing out
6pm – the village church some four miles away.
He lifted the latch on the half-door
Whistled the sheep dog, beckoned us
It was milking time.
Later we’d sit, drink tea
Eat chunks of homemade bread
Covered in freshly made raspberry jam.
We well recalled the night you died.
Photo Credit: Isaac Levitan – Village. Twilight.